


A Little Diversion

by Penny_P



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-06-24 03:37:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19715458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Penny_P/pseuds/Penny_P
Summary: The Captain needs a little diversion while the ship is docked at a Delta Quadrant space station.  Nothing explicit but a lot of innuendo.





	A Little Diversion

**Author's Note:**

> As I am posting my stories to AO3, I realize how many of them have been inspired by poetry or music. This one sprang into being while sunning on a beach and listening to “Long Cool Woman in a Black Dress” not long after some publicity photos of Kate Mulgrew in a black dress and stiletto heels were published.

Trouble in a black dress stepped through the door, stopped and looked around.

When you've been a bartender at a space station as long as I have, you recognize trouble when it walks in. Her eyes were cool and measuring as she took in the crowd. Hair the color of glowing embers, eyes the color of polar caps on Norcadia – fire and ice in a black dress. Oh, that dress. Compared to what the working girls wore, it was modest: a knee length shift with a simple scoop neckline, sleeveless so that finely toned arms were visible, fitted but not clinging. Knee-high boots with 10-centimeter heels somehow combined elegance with the promise of passion.

Dacia, the younger of the working girls, frowned as she realized her second-skin unitard suddenly looked cheap. Chylla was too experienced to let her displeasure show but from the way her eyes narrowed, I could tell she realized that she looked shopworn and tired compared to this vision of cool elegance.

Trouble in the black dress stood still for a long moment, raking her gaze over all of the patrons, and conversations began to taper off and then stop altogether. Women don’t come into my bar; at least not women like her, and everyone began to stare. It did not shake her composure for an instant; she met each look evenly. No one held her interest for long, not Officer Plasek, not any of the Velni or the Goray or any of the men scattered about, until her eyes landed on the man seated with Dacia.

He was a Voyager, like she was, from the ship that had been stuck at the station the past week. Like so many ships, they had nowhere to go except across the Arren Expanse, an area of space that is not navigable except for one narrow lane. The various radiations make it impossible for most ships to find that lane; the coordinates have to be pre-programmed. It is not surprising, then, that the coordinates of the passage are the most sought-after commodity on the station, and like so many of us, the captain of Voyager either couldn't or wouldn't pay the prices demanded for the data.

The object of Trouble's attention had been sitting in that chair for over an hour, nursing a single Velnian ale and brooding. His dark eyes lent themselves well to the task. Dacia had been trying to get his attention for a good twenty minutes without success. She's not usually so persistent but I suspect that the combination of his silent, moody expression, the strange marking on his forehead and the way he looked in the brown leather pants he wore captured her interest more than the typical customer.

Trouble caught his eyes, and the ion count in the room suddenly spiked. The connection between them was immediate and electric, and it was not comfortable. He lifted his chin slightly and met her cool stare with one equally detached. How there could be that much heat in an exchange so cold was a paradox. There was history in that look, a drama of passion and anger and challenge, and I didn't need to be a telepath to know it.

"Oh, no," the short Voyager sitting at the bar said softly. His name, he had told me, was Neelix. He didn't look like the other Voyagers, but he said he was part of their crew – cook, morale officer, goodwill ambassador. Sounded like make-work to me, but who am I to criticize? Just a bar-tender, working under contract to someone else who makes the profits.

Beside him, Officer Plasek raised an eyebrow. "What's wrong?"

"The Captain and the Commander are at it again." He spoke in a low voice, because the place was suddenly so quiet that anything more than a whisper would carry to everyone."

"I thought that was your Captain. She looks … different."

Neelix took a large swallow of his drink. "Different. Yes. I should have known this would happen. We've been cooped up at this station too long. "

"What do you mean?"

"Most of the time, the Captain and the Commander get along just fine. But if she gets frustrated or bored…well, let's just say I'm glad they're here instead of the mess hall. There are still scars in the wall from the last time she needed a little diversion."

Plasek swiveled and looked back to Captain Trouble. She was walking – sauntering, really – across the main room to the alcove with the mallain tables. Mico stood beside the table, holding his rod and watching her. The black dress stretched as it shifted with her movement, showing a swell of breast one moment, a curve of hip the next. She smiled as she realized he was looking, but she neither sped up nor slowed down.

When she reached the table, she ran one finger over its felt top. "I've heard about this game," she said. Her voice was like the whiskey I keep for the station manager – smoky and smooth. "We have one that's similar. We call it pool."

"This is mallain," Mico said. His bass voice sounded unusually thick. "It is not a woman's game."

Her eyebrows arched, but she said nothing. She reached out and closed her hand around his rod, stroking it appreciatively. "We call this a cue," she purred. "When handled by an expert, the results can be quite rewarding."

Mico stared at her for a long moment, then smiled slowly. "It costs three hundred mestra to play."

She continued stroking the …cue, she called it. "I haven't got even one mestra. I was hoping we could reach an agreement."

Mico frowned. He made his living from the mallain tables, hoping to take in enough to buy the coordinates for the passage. We'd come in on the same ship, Mico and I, and we'd been stranded here after the captain was forced to sell our contracts to the station manager in exchange for the coordinates. After six years of working the docks and hustling the mallain tables after shift, he had almost enough to buy his passage out. Every mestra was as dear to him as his next breath. "What kind of deal?"

"If you win," she said, her hand still caressing the cue, "you can have anything you want tonight. Anything that I can provide, that is, that doesn't involve anything as crass as money. And if I win," her restless hand paused, then let go of the cue, "I can have anything I want."

"No money?" Mico squeaked. Truly, it was a squeak.

Plasek leaned forward, straining to hear. If she demanded payment, he could fine her for practicing without a license.

"Not a single mestra." She ran her tongue over her lower lip and trapped his gaze. "Just … fun. As much fun as two people can have."

In six years, I have never seen Mico accept a challenge without three golden centimestra on the table. But he never took his eyes away from hers. "It's a deal."

She smiled, a smile of such radiance that it was stunning, and her eyes flipped briefly to Commander Brooding. He folded his arms across his chest, but gave no other indication that he had even heard the transaction.

The sound of scraping chairs filled the room as everyone turned to watch the competition. Even Plasek adjusted his barstool, although those swiveled easily enough, and he could turn back to me at a moment's notice. Captain Trouble walked over to the wall rack and selected a cue, running a hand softly over three until she decided she liked the feel of the fourth. Every time she raised her hand, the black dress pulled delicately to the right, tightening over the arc of her left buttock. The third time, even Plasek sighed.

Removing the cue from the wall, she returned to the table and tested it once or twice against imaginary balls. As she leaned over the table, half the men in the place leaned forward to see if that black dress would reveal anything as she bent.

It didn't.

No one seemed to mind.

"Uh," Neelix said, "I think I could use another drink."

Four patrons turned their heads and said, "Shut up."

I winked at him. He looked very nervous. I reached under the bar for the bottle of single-malt aberdine that I keep for the occasional slummers that stop by and poured a double. "Ten mestra," I whispered.

He stared at his captain with the most comical combination of fear and desire I have ever seen as he slid the duodecimestra in front of me. Plasek looked over his shoulder to be certain I provided correct change. He was always trying to catch me shorting the customers, since he got to keep 25% of the fine he could levy. I placed four shiny new hemimestras, minted just yesterday in my backroom, on the bar. Some of my best work ever, actually. Neelix slid them into his pocket without studying them.

"Who breaks?" Captain Trouble asked, holding the cue so that it lay between her breasts.

Mico smiled confidently. He has lost once in the six years we have been here. "Ladies first."

Her mouth curved in return, but the warmth of a few moments earlier was gone. This was a cool smile, calculating, and in that instant I knew that Mico had lost.

Walking slowly to the foot of the table, she tossed one last glance at Commander Brooding, then lined up her shot. Three balls – one red, one orange and one green, rolled obediently into three different pockets. She straightened, holding the cue in her right hand, her left hip cocked. The black dress stretched in the most interesting way. "Solids, I'd say."

Mico's smile began to fade.

She walked to the near side of the table and leaned forward until she nearly touched it. That meant that most of the room was treated to the sight of the black dress molding to the most perfect pair of female buttocks ever to grace this bar. Round yet firm, clothed in mystery. Plasek sighed again.

The Commander frowned.

Two more balls of solid color found their way into the pockets. She straightened, moved around the table, and paused to chalk her cue as she faced us all. Despite the fact that every eye was fastened on her, she seemed oblivious to the attention. She was completely focused on the game.

Except, as she bent forward for her next shot, she raised her head slightly and caught the Commander's eye. And she smiled.

And she sunk another ball.

With a look of defiance, Dacia left her chair and plopped herself in the Commander's lap.

"Please," Neelix whispered, but since it was obviously a prayer of some kind I did not ask him to explain.

The next shot was going to be difficult. She studied the table from every angle, and finally picked the foot of the table as her best position. Raising her left knee – the one closest to us – so that it was balanced against the edge of the table, she leaned impossibly forward and the modest black dress slid upwards, revealing the majority of a shapely thigh. When the last of the solid-colored balls ricocheted off the head of the table, then the near side and then slid into a pocket, there was a group gasp in the room.

She stood, let the dress fall back into place. "What happens next under your rules?"

Mico looked like exactly what he was – a man torn between his pride and the promise of a really good night. "You keep going," he said at last. "Sink as many of the striped balls as you can."

Captain Trouble smiled again. What an amazing repertory of smiles she had. This one could only be called dangerous.

It took her less than two minutes to clear the table.

Mico continued to battle between his pride and his… well, other areas of his male identity. This time, pride won. "Let's go again. Two out of three."

Commander Brooding stood, which unfortunately meant that Dacia dropped to the floor. He waited until her indignant squeal no longer echoed in the room. "The game's over."

Mico looked at him angrily, but Captain Trouble just smiled - a different smile this time, one filled with knowledge and perhaps – perhaps - anticipation. She handed her cue to Mico. "He's right," she said, still not looking at him. Her gaze was fixed on the Commander. "We agreed to just one game."

I have to say, Mico is not usually so slow, but this time he just wasn't getting it. "No, I say we go again."

She turned to him. "The game is over. And I won. That means I get to spend the night any way I want. As much fun as two people can have, remember?"

"Oh." He swallowed and remembered what he stood to win. "Yeah, that's right."

She reached with one hand and patted him on the cheek. It was almost a motherly gesture. "Thank you for the game." Then she left him, standing there with a cue in each hand and walked over to the Commander.

"Game's over," she said. "I won."

He nodded. "The game is over."

They stood like that, face to face, not more than three centimeters separating them, and then Captain Trouble smiled again. Well, perhaps it wasn't exactly a smile. Her lips parted and curved a little, and then she ran her tongue over her upper lip. "And I get to spend the night the way I want."

He nodded. He didn't touch her.

We all wanted him to touch her.

"Neelix, don't be long. We're going to need a double order of angla'bosque in my quarters in exactly three hours. And…" she glanced at the Commander, then turned and began to saunter out, "a lot of whipped cream. Freshly whipped, Neelix. Freshly whipped, and a lot of it."

For the first time all day, Commander Brooding smiled, and followed her out.

As one, fifteen or so men in the room exhaled. Neelix snatched up the glass of aberdine and swallowed its contents in a single gulp.

Plasek turned to him. "Is your captain always like that?"

"Oh, no," Neelix said hastily. A little too hastily, perhaps. "Only when she wants something very, very badly." He set the glass down and slid off his stool, a little unsteadily. "I'd better go. See you tomorrow."

"See you tomorrow," I said as he hurried out the door.

Plasek looked at me thoughtfully. "He didn't leave you a tip."

"I imagine he was distracted." I set up glasses as the line for the bar began to form. "That's all right. I have a feeling it's going to be a busy night."

That was a month ago. Voyager left the next day, thanks to the data chip I slipped to Neelix in one of the newly minted hemimestras I gave him as change for his drink. For once, Plasek had been so distracted that he did not check the authenticity of the coin, something he'd done routinely ever since the counterfeits began appearing on the station.

What did I get in return? When Voyager left it took me with them, a passenger until we reach my homeworld. I had acquired the coordinates a few weeks earlier but had yet to meet a captain I could trust to take me along when they left.

In just two days, I will see my wife and children for the first time in six years. On this ship, they understand what that means. They understand what it means to be separated from family against your will.

In just two days, I will be home.

What did the Captain and the Commander do that night? Don't ask me. I hadn't come on board yet. Lt. Paris, though, told me that Neelix did indeed make a special order of angla'bosque that night, and Jenny Delaney saw him around midnight in the kitchen, preparing whipped cream. He told her it was for the fruit parfait he was serving for dessert the next day.

Truly, that's what he said.

\- the end –


End file.
